Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier

Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier. The phrase “Not to speak ill of the dead” falls into the category of grievous hurt and thought defects, lies that are told as “good day” good evening “good night” how are you or… Today, it’s the hottest day of the summer, or… .”Not to speak ill of the dead ”- Just passing the time of day – So much for decorum.

To a man who has hurt my dream.

To a man who has hurt my dream!
You’re a harasser just like

Buddha or Jesus, you’re fretting
my rest, you hide my inner poise

upsets our sleepiness, we will
break them up (I want to hurt you…)
The dream

was of the flowers. The Dream can
be of the sun, and I don’t have
to be

of the flowers, but one certain thing:

It’s a dream, outspoken and

Endlessly burnishing wildflowers

Endlessly burnishing wildflowers
forgotten by splattered times
of bloodless slaughterer’s design.
Waking souls lulled to long days’ sleep,
forced to steal robbed dreams endlessly
till winter freezes them to sleep.
In effect cut short dreams harden
frightfully, the nights frightfully
seem as long as winter in length.
Frenzied paced yelling, to end put
lightning in its excited place
awakening death’s silent scream.
Immortalized storms are forming
under the bitten tongue, they then
secretively bloom shade with sense.
From hiding you to dodge the knife,
no choice with the merit for me
to have ‘tween green eyes and brown eyes.
Knighted enemies eye alone
like Kings of the Night, shimmered like
white foot soldiers woefully,
heroic scream of blue lightning
pride’s flashes animatedly,
whoosing beasts move to foil its growl.
Hollering his disenchantment
steadfastly pitted against his,
bows to the trek’s will’s end at peace.
As those viewed in deathly silence,
perched like prey’s birds on the hilltop,
will stand still in the dragon’s sound.
There is no realm of pure meaning today!
My God, dead, but yet quick! Death in itself
and Words above the world – a burning bead,
a heated hollow and a cry of fear.

Monster/Parallax’ – Poem by Leila Samarrai
I am here…
– I shutter
partition starts –
the pieces,
chaos moving in,
a fury within devils
rupturing with enormity
giving stirring laughter
and wings (numb they, edged with menthol

“The man you speak of no longer exists.”
We are here,
I tremble…
sapless from dark honey,
blood in seltzer,
wine’s reverse dream about grapes –
of a web unbound
fog at pale-speed
drifts my eyes to focus
(my teeth Wolfen still,
flesh remembered…

“Then what stands before me assuming his manner and form? ”

I am here
weak sapless from fanged honey
my teeth Wolfen still
flesh between
bound to hard gums
“A monster is rough-hewn by unfortunate events

and given breath by necessity.”
Leila Samarrai

Scattered family after Facebook block

As strip uncorrupted faceted coats
hard shell and blanketed like a universe
cold coldness
of my being
to be
feel like
a bad taste of Taconite
such a cruelty

Whence fear no assault but all that spake
in the beam
all square sides
.. Potere… Elbaite with albite and Lepidolite.
striffing the acrylics
shine, you gorgeous butterfly wing jasper
oh shame to onslet painter
’tis, my shuly lungurous etcetera
to confound the pace
but wither- amateur
de blanc et de noir,
a slant of it
softly coming from anon
thirst-ridden sinews each dim
winch is to toss trails, into the lap of andante
and the harsh fervid moon over feet she lifts
on light footed germinal egg
The Dickite of facebook family block.
The Fukalite in the loud flames
of her benevolent heart,
Disconsolately, I think
she is going to kill herself by
Shawshank gems, rock and pistol.
when the grocery can opens and camels looks like Canterbury
she will do it then
by then
the pastures will glisten
the pocketbook will listen
copper chromate arsenate hydroxide
in visions of endless love.
day, night, aunt Margaret
shall I tell you a secret?
alas, wee birdie and beast
this is the trushes of songs
but still keeps carving dark dark
and the cry works all the time

But mistakes her for the medals
for too long, the bingo father
and the bingo mother
and the bingo sister – lover,
and a flutter, outside the big
retro box full of slime
and nothing but a slime

and the Mind House spots me in Poland
bamboo leaf for lotus, Atomium, La Pedrera
so don’t blame panda for my family corduroy
I have to go somewhere.. I know.
I gotta go swimming in Mid Atlantic
supported by the Meta Picture of myself

feel like
feel like
for daddy may come and daddy may go,
but mummy will go on forever.

Moolooite, hear me
in that Emanating dim pit
stings my smooth plastic absolutia
for I am quartz, a chert, a life
sitting in a fetal position under a large rock
with other dead souls.

a fairly set.